“Please don’t,” she begged. “I don’t want you to see me.”
As an older woman she at least knew how to articulate her preferences once matters had been set in motion. She remembered that as a new bride she’d been mute with the terror of it all: the quick fumbling, Humphry’s knee between her legs and the sharp thrust of his manhood into her unprepared entrance. Each time she’d braced for the cruel irony of receiving him in this most intimate manner, knowing how much he resented her for requiring him under the terms of their marriage contract to perform.
A more congenial familiarity with one another had only been established after George had been born some years into their marriage. With the required heir, thankfully in robust health, finally installed in the nursery, Humphry had fulfilled his dynastic requirements and no longer had to force himself to perform the despised act with Sybil.
“I’ve already seen you,” Stephen argued as he gently tugged it up past her thighs. His face gleamed. She saw that he meant what he said. “You’re beautiful. That’s why I want a closer look. Now assist me, please. Raise your arms.”
And lie before him, naked? With the candle guttering behind her?
Resigned, she closed her eyes, her own desire fast evaporating. What she had to offer could not stand up to scrutiny. Humphry had made his offer on the barest acquaintance and look how disappointed he’d been when forced to become intimate.
She was not prepared for Stephen’s enthusiasm. “Oh, you are delectable, Lady Partington,” he sighed, cutting short his praise with an almost boyish gorging upon her right breast.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
Breasts were not for suckling by grown men. Surely this was not...right. Yet with his warm mouth closed over her nipple, desire was suddenly in the ascendant. It swamped her, embarrassed her with the flow of moisture between her legs and she shifted awkwardly, remembering that she’d felt like this once before and that it had embarrassed her then, this manifestation of her own prurience, for respectable women didn’t lose control of their bodily juices.
As she glanced down she intercepted the wicked look in his eye. She realized that he’d assumed control. He’d not stop and explain every clever trick.
It was then she decided to throw self-control to the wind. He was clearly enjoying himself, so why shouldn’t she? Within reason. She could do this. Enjoy herself, for it was the letting go that was so hard. She must simply close her eyes and give herself up to physical abandonment, let him dictate the pace and procedure. He knew what he was doing. He was the expert and neither was expecting each other’s hearts. She ought to be used to the sexual act when no deep emotion was involved.
And yet the sensations that ravaged her almost virgin-like body when his hot, devouring mouth licked and suckled, and when he skimmed his hand up her thighs, were devastating.
She tried not to waste her breath gasping with embarrassment or objecting when his thumb and forefinger found the juncture between her legs and began to massage the damp, highly sensitized and most intimate of places. This was obviously what he meant by giving and receiving pleasure. He certainly seemed to enjoy her responses when she squirmed and moaned softly.
“Now I have you where I want you, Lady Partington. Completely naked and completely mine.” The devilish glint in his eye was gratifying in the extreme, as was the enormous length of his shaft when he divested himself of his clothes and once more caged her with his lean, handsome body.
This was male perfection like she’d not witnessed at close quarters. Ever.
She even found herself grinning back. An extreme paradox, for she was the last person she’d ever imagine participating in such wickedness—and enjoying it so much.
“Your wish is my command.” His lips grazed her neck, his hand toying with her nipple, leaving her with an empty, deeply unsatisfied feeling in her lower belly.
When she hitched her hips he gave a low chuckle of understanding but growled, “Not yet, my beauty. There is a great deal more pleasure to be had before I do the business, if I might speak so plainly.”
Sybil was glad the bedcovers had already been turned back by her maid, for when without warning he slid down the bed and ran his tongue the length of her entrance, she shrieked with horror and drew the covers over the sight. This was not right.
And yet the wicked sensations were like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
“Mama...”
Heady desire turned instantly to horror at the sound of Araminta’s voice, filtering in through the doorway with the light of the candle she held. Sybil froze and held her breath as she silently demanded her breathing become more regular.
Araminta. She’d never thought...
Araminta placed her candle onto her mother’s dressing table at the far end of the room and lowered herself onto the stool.
“You didn’t knock?” It was all Sybil could say. Thank God Stephen was beneath the covers, albeit also between her legs.
The heavy carved post of the bed and three yards of floor space diluted visuals. Fortunately, Araminta didn’t seem particularly concerned about her mother, who knew that her apparent lack of night rail and nightcap, not to mention disordered hair, might ring alarm bells. That is, if Araminta were not so self-absorbed.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t hear,” Araminta excused herself. With a sigh she added, “Oh Mama, I do so want to marry Stephen.”
“What!” It was a croak at best. Sybil registered Stephen’s horror too, somewhere in the darkness beneath the bed covers and yes, between Araminta’s own mother’s legs.
“Yet how can I, now that Edgar has returned and is heir? Stephen is handsome and charming and he makes my heart beat faster and I know he is madly in love with me.” She gave another gusty sigh. “But with Edgar alive, Stephen has nothing. Does he, Mama?” She spoke as if desperate for her mother to refute it.
“I...I don’t know very much about Stephen’s situation, my dear.” Sybil shifted, careful to keep the sheet up around her neck—and not to smother Stephen. Lord, she’d never felt so desperately cornered. “Araminta, it’s very late. Perhaps we should have this talk in the morning.”